


Silent Night, Kristallnacht

by phoebesmum



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Family, Family Rydell, Ficlet, Flash Fic, Gen, Racism, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-02
Updated: 2009-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-04 02:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoebesmum/pseuds/phoebesmum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Night, Kristallnacht

**Author's Note:**

> Written April 2007; prompt: 'Silent Night'.

When he gets off the phone Dan goes straight to Isaac, explains the situation, asks for and is given, unconditionally, three days' compassionate leave. He tells no-one else. They would be angry, he knows, on his behalf and in principle they'd sympathize, but there would be pity in their eyes, and he doesn't need that, not from these _goyim_. Fuck them. Fuck the lot of them. And if that's a little harsh on his friends, most especially on Jeremy and Will and Elliott, then – well. It just is. Too bad.

He goes home at once, packs a bag, gets in the car and drives. His parents are waiting for him at the house, his father tight-lipped, his mother red-eyed. He stops only to drink a glass of water, use the bathroom, then they drive out to the cemetery.

There are other families there, about the same work as themselves. They exchange nods, too intent on their own business for anything more. The three of them tread the familiar paths to the Rydell graves: both Dan's grandfathers, his own father's mother. Sam. They know what they'll see, but still, they find themselves stopped short, shocked. Dan's mother gives a little, stifled sob, and he reaches out for her hand. She squeezes his own hand, then manages a determined smile, nods once, and lets it drop, squaring her shoulders.

They set to work. His parents have brought the necessary materials, water and cloths, bleach, a patented spray that promises instant graffiti removal. Dan's mother scrubs at the obscenities and the swastikas while his father and he shift broken stones, broken glass, shovel up shit and bag it in plastic. Time passes; Dan has no idea how much. Eventually, some form of order is restored.

They pick up the garbage and retrace their steps. Dan notices his father deliberately slowing and, catching his eye, slows his own pace, dropping back, letting his mother carry on ahead. The two men walk together and Jacob talks, low voiced. This isn't the first attack in the area; it's known who did this, names and addresses, they've all been tracked down. This can't be left unpunished, is what Jacob's implying, but Dan can tell by the look in his father's eyes, the faint scorn in his voice, that he thinks that Dan will back away from the fight, that he's too _civilized_, not enough of a man.

And maybe Jacob's right. All his life Dan's pretended to be unhearing, uncaring, oblivious to the prejudice, implicit or deliberate, that he's grown up with. He's turned a deaf ear to slurs and insults, shrugged when restaurants suddenly turn out to have no free tables, smiled gently at well-intentioned ignorance, switched off the loudmouthed bigots whose voices are heard on his TV and left their newspaper columns unread. But patience is not always a virtue; silence isn't always golden, not any longer, not any more. Things are getting worse, day by day by day. And, for the triumph of evil … well. The rest goes without saying.

There's the question though. If he goes along with his father, will he have the right any longer to call himself – insofar as he ever does – a good man?

What would Isaac do? What _had_ he done, in the long-gone past, in days darker even than these? He never talks about those times, about the marches and the sit-downs and the riots. What part did he play in them, to have come through the fires tempered with so much wisdom and dignity and grace?

And Casey. Imagine Casey's reaction, if he knew. Casey, ignorant and innocent; the shock on his face, that time at _Lone Star_, when a drunk colleague had said … what he'd said, how he'd swung around in disbelief to stare after the man, turned back to Dan, then back again, back and forth, back and forth as if his head was on a spring, until Dan had had to laugh, in spite of everything.

Dan's thought too long. Jacob throws him a look of disgust and starts to walk away, his backbone rigid. It's now or never: time to make a decision, time to stand or fall.

Dan chooses.

And the silence will be broken; or will endure forever.

***


End file.
